


Quiet

by elisera



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Victor, Post canon, alpha yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 18:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10254596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisera/pseuds/elisera
Summary: Viktor grew up at rinks and in ballet studios, sneaking out of the apartment and away from his father’s oppressive silence at all hours of the day to practice, and he learned more than skating and how to control every movement of his body.He learned how to cut someone up with a smile and the truth, to slice them into ribbons with kind words that lack anything resembling mercy. He learned to smile and let it be a threat, a showing of teeth.





	

“Vitya, come,” Yakov says impatiently, all but tugging on Viktor’s sleeve, and Viktor loosens his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders. 

“Two days, Yuuri,” he says into the quiet between them, Yuuri still so close and making no move to put more space between them even though it feels like the entire airport full of people has their eyes on them. “Remember, you promised.”

Yuuri nods jerkily, bumping his nose against Viktor’s jaw in a caress. If you knew him, but didn’t know him like Vitkor does, it would look accidental, typical Yuuri clumsiness. But even though Viktor doesn’t always understand him, in this, he knows Yuuri. 

“Have a good flight,” Yuuri murmurs, fisting one of his hands in the end of Viktor’s scarf for a moment. He looks at Viktor through his lashes, and Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand into his, rubs his thumb over the ring.

“Yuuri --”

“Viktor!” Yurio yells and when Viktor looks up, he’s stomping over, waving his boarding pass at them. 

He’s stinking up the place with barely leashed teenage alpha hormones, his aggression leaking all over the place, and Viktor tugs the corners of his mouth firmly down. Everything is a challenge to Yurio nowadays. That everyone reacts indulgently to his every inexperienced attempt at dominance isn’t helping. In their defense, Yurio is too cute like this, and Viktor never met a young alpha who couldn’t stand to be taken down a notch or two. Only this time, Viktor feels Yuuri straightening in answer, the shift in his stance and scent, and Yurio falters in his step.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says quietly, but Yuuri’s already collapsing into himself again, taking a step back from Viktor. He’s all embarrassed blush and hunching shoulders, and Yurio recovers smoothly enough, getting into Viktor’s face about how Viktor is going to make them miss their flight like it didn’t happen at all. 

Viktor lets him rant and says goodbye to Yuuri with a kiss to his palm, lets Yakov herd them to their terminal without making a fuss. Two days. It’s just two days. 

...

“I need you to _focus_ ,” Yakov grumbles, collapsing into the seat next to Viktor. “If you want to skate at the Nationals, I need you to actually --”

Viktor tunes him out and keeps looking out of the window, wondering if Yuuri is watching his plane take off. Yuuri has another four hours to while away until his own flight leaves for Japan. And in two days, Yuuri will bring Makkachin to St. Petersburg and stay. He’s going stay with Viktor. There’s no reason to feel like he has glass wings, like he’s bound to fall and shatter the first time a shot is fired at him. And yet.

“Are you listening to me?” Yakov says and Viktor turns, smiles.

“Don’t I always listen to you?”

Yakov huffs. “Listen, maybe. Do what I say? No.”

“But _Yakov_!” Viktor sings, lightly and teasing, and it’s enough to catch Mila and Yurio’s attention two rows away. Yurio pushes up on his seat, frown already darkening his expression. “Am I not a good student who is coming with you to St. Petersburg instead of going to Hasetsu with my beautiful Yuuri? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

Yakov’s face immediately turns suspicious. “What did you do?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Viktor soothes. Yurio scoffs, and Yakov doesn’t look reassured at all. Viktor doesn’t care.

These last few years, Viktor’s actively wondered if whatever makes you get attached to people had atrophied within him thanks to disuse. Only then, on the night of last year’s GPF banquet, Yuuri got close enough to his heart to get his hooks into it. And after everything, after the quicksilver fast changes in mood these last couple of days, Viktor isn’t willing to take a chance.

Yuuri’s fears and doubts are relentless, chipping away at Yuuri’s confidence and his trust in what they’ve build between them even when Viktor is right there. Two days is plenty of time for Yuuri to change his mind about St. Petersburg.

Viktor supposes it’s not kind of him to run off to Russia on his own and use Makkachin and Yuuri’s worry about the dog as insurance that Yuuri will follow. He just needs Yuuri to come, to be there; he can work with that.

At the end of the day, Viktor is many things to many people, but in his heart of hearts, he’s always been gunning for victory in everything he sets his eyes on. He won’t risk losing Yuuri. Not again.

...

Viktor was a happy child. The apple of his parents’ eye. Everyone knows that. It’s documented in enough articles to have become part of the myth of Viktor Nikiforov. 

The truth is that yes, he was joyful and ebullient. His laughter filled up all the empty spaces between his parents, after all. How could he have been anything but after he understood that?

If he tries, he can still vaguely remember feeling safe, cradled between his parents. He knows there was a time where he was neither a weapon nor a target for them, and never as easily ignored as an old piece of furniture. He knows.

He still chose the ice above all else long before Maman went back to France. He made it his everything, the center his world revolved around, and he knows he did it to have a _choice_ about something in his life. 

He was such a happy child that the world still wonders about how estranged he has become from his parents. 

His parents know why.

Because Viktor grew up at rinks and in ballet studios, sneaking out of the apartment and away from his father’s oppressive silence at all hours of the day to practice, and he learned more than skating and how to control every movement of his body.

He learned how to cut someone up with a smile and the truth, to slice them into ribbons with kind words that lack anything resembling mercy. He learned to smile and let it be a threat, a showing of teeth. 

He learned to be Viktor Nikiforov and what it meant. 

Viktor Nikiforov stopped needing anyone a long time ago.

…

On Yuuri’s first morning in St. Petersburg, Viktor uses his key to let them into the rink just after five a.m., Yuuri vibrating nerves against his back. 

“Are you sure,” he tries again, but Yuuri cuts him off with a gesture and a smile.

“I told you,” he says, shouldering past Viktor and down the dark hallway. “I want to get a feel for the place before everyone else gets here.”

“But you hate mornings,” Viktor says, flipping on the light and following him. He points Yuuri towards the locker room when he grinds to a halt at an intersection. “Also, jet lag.”

“Don’t remind me,” Yuuri sighs, and Viktor balls his hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. 

It’s only been two days, and they clung to each other at the airport, and piled onto the couch with Makkachin just hours ago, and -- Viktor feels like he’s teetering above the abyss of a possible future without Yuuri. Depending on people only makes you vulnerable, and that’s a lesson Viktor learned early and well. He knows he’s already shown his hand, though. And not just to Yuuri, but to the entire world.

He doesn’t, can’t, regret it, but the fear of losing Yuuri eats at him.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asks, squinting up at him in the quiet of the hallway, and Viktor can’t help it, he pulls Yuuri in. Yuuri comes easily, his arms tight around Viktor’s waist as he tucks his nose against Viktor’s throat.

Viktor shouldn’t need it, but having Yuuri this close soothes his jagged edges, stops him from bleeding out where no one can see.

The media is full of stories and speculations about them right now. So are the fan forums. Viktor’s shown the world his hand, yes, and now the world is wondering what he, who had never shown a lasting interest in anyone, could possibly want with a quiet, meek alpha like Yuuri, someone so unpolished. It makes Viktor want to laugh. He could go with the easy answer and lay it all down at the feet of biology, wax about just how good Yuuri’s scent is. And while that’s true, it’s not all of it. 

Yuuri surprised him and made him curious, made him do the chasing, and somewhere along the line, Viktor fell in love. Not with an idea, but with the reality of Yuuri. There is no one who could possibly fit him like Yuuri.

“Let’s go,” he says after a minute, untangling himself and trying on a cheerful smile for size. 

…

They end up just leisurely skating up and down the rink, Viktor pointing out the patch of shitty ice in that one corner, and how, in the afternoons, the light becomes blinding at that end of the rink. Yuuri takes it all in quietly, shooting Viktor looks out of the corner of his eyes the longer Viktor chatters on.

He only falls silent when Yuuri takes his hand and circles around in front of him, skating backwards.

“You know you can talk to me,” Yuuri says, carefully. 

He’s exhausted and it shows in the dark bruises underneath his eyes. Viktor badly wants to bundle him off to bed, climb in after and press close.

“If -- if you have doubts about coaching me and competing, we can still --”

“No!” Viktor says, too loudly and too firmly, the words ringing in the quiet of the rink.

Yuuri frowns.

“I’m fine!” Viktor chirps, smiles. “Everything is fine!”

“Viktor,” he says, unsure. Viktor stops smiling.

Maybe here, now, Viktor can admit that he seems to have unlearned something. That he doesn’t think he wants to relearn it. At least not when it comes to Yuuri.

“Let me stay with you,” he says. Asks. He closes his eyes. “I seem to have forgotten how to be without you.”

Yuuri slows them to a halt. The touch of his fingers against Viktor’s cheek is cold. Viktor opens his eyes again.

Yuuri caught him unaware back at the banquet. He got to Viktor before he even knew there was a danger, that he should get his walls up if he cared to keep his heart his own. Viktor doesn’t know how to protect himself from Yuuri, and he doesn’t think it’s a skill he wants to learn.

“What do you think these mean to me?” Yuuri asks as he brings up Viktor’s hand to kiss his ring. “I don’t want to be where you’re not.”

He cups the back of Viktor’s head and grips his shirt, brings Viktor close enough for a soft-mouthed, gentle kiss. They just look at each other when Yuuri pulls back. Viktor nods.

When Yuuri moves in for another kiss, he sighs into it, opens his mouth without being asked.

“Viktor!” Yakov yells, startling them apart. “Get over here! We have work to do! You can kiss him on your own time!”

Viktor steals one more kiss before sighing again, this time for an entirely different reason. He takes Yuuri by the hand, skates with him down the ice towards Yakov. 

This, Yuuri, means he has an entirely new skillset to learn. But it could be fine. It truly could.

Viktor’s never been afraid of putting in the work, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. I'm drowning in my feels about these two and then this somehow happened today :)
> 
> Shoutout to Pinetreelady for reading it over for me, supplying the title _and_ holding my hand.


End file.
